Cover
by elephantant
Summary: Hermione's life after the war is relatively mundane... until a strange request leads to an unlikely partnership and an unexpected life of intrigue. EWE, of course. Slow-building friendship before romance.
1. Prologue

A/N: Anything you recognize probably belongs to JKR, though I probably should also mention that this fic was at least partly inspired by watching too much Covert Affairs.

Prologue

Hermione didn't dally too long before making her move, as her delay tactics were hardly preferable to the daunting task she faced. She had swallowed half her flute of cheap sparkling wine over a quarter hour spent in receiving intimate, preening confidences from Percy Weasley, who had been cataloguing his colleagues' filing missteps in almost lurid detail. She learned that Gampus Bulgoad' fine spell for detangling goat beards had nearly been classified under cosmetics rather than creatures, thanks to what Percy suspected was a vindictive ploy by Irene Mottle, the recent ex-girlfriend of Bulgoad's daughter Gertie. Crucial information to some, but not precisely the intelligence she sought that evening.

Hermione glanced fleetingly in the direction of an equally one-sided, dull-seeming conversation and observed that Professor Snape was being talked at by a toad of a man swathed in grey silk who looked like he could easily be related to Dolores Umbridge. As at May's annual victory ball, Snape looked healthier than she had ever seen him at Hogwarts, but hardly pleasant. The too-sweet bubbly alcohol sloshed in her stomach as she tried to catalog her feelings: nerves, righteous indignation, excitement. Nothing new for a war heroine such as herself, but she'd had a goodly reprieve from such things in the past two years as she finished her studies at Hogwarts almost uneventfully, then devoted the following year to attaining an informational magics certification and ultimately landed a coveted research position at the Ministry Library. That the Library vaults stored all original Ministry patents as well as documents pertinent to government-funded research explained her presence at the annual cocktail party celebrating new magical inventions, but it did not account for her queasy stomach or her interest in the two ill-matched gentlemen.

With a resolute sigh, she interrupted Percy's continuing diatribe. "I guess there's no chance I'll manage to speak to him alone."

He followed her gaze. "Who, Zeuler? No, I doubt he'll leave Mr. Snape be unless Minister Shacklebolt himself makes an appearance, and I happen to know that that's hardly likely! Why this very afternoon - "

Hermione patted Percy's arm, and briskly stepped away, a resolute look on her face. "Well, at least he can't give me detention anymore. Wish me luck!" She pushed her way through the thickening crowd, pretending to spot Leopold Zeuler for the first time. Noting Zeuler's empty glass, and that her old professor was himself empty handed, though doubtless not by accident, she snagged additional drinks from a passing server and pushed her way between the two men, face flushed in a show of youthful eagerness and admiration.

Snape noticed her first, and acknowledged her with a cold, "Miss Granger." He must be truly desperate, she decided, if he isn't doing more to push me away.

"Gentlemen. I'm so sorry to interrupt, but if I may offer a small bribe to excuse my rudeness?"

Snape plucked the glass from her hand with a suspicious scowl, making no move to drink the offensive beverage, while Zeuler began to look at her with interest. "Thank you my dear, I was just about to search out another." She watched him identify her, deem her important enough to warrant attention, then unsubtly evaluate her body. Clammy fingers caressed her own as he took his glass, while Hermione did her best to maintain eye contact and convey nervous admiration.

"Professor Snape, Sir," she asked, not bothering to meet his eyes, "I'd be ever so grateful if you would introduce me to your esteemed friend. Dr. Zeuler, I'm simply fascinated by your recent work on Goblin psychology, and I'm curious, have you considered the implications of your studies for related species, such as house-elves?"

Zeuler looked confused, pleased with the praise, but a bit perplexed with Hermione's rapid turn to interrogation.

"Mr. Zeuler," Snape drawled, simultaneously demoting and defamiliarizing the other man, and, Hermione thought, reminding her that it was no longer appropriate to refer to him as her professor. "Hermione Granger is a particularly eager ex-student. Her exploits are extensively documented, and I imagine she needs little introduction."

"Why indeed, Hermione, the pleasure is mine. I am flattered by your interest, but remember, Goblins, unlike house-elves, are clearly classified as Beings. I see little benefit to extending my study to entities that do not share that status."

"But Sir, the data you present, when one considers the specific physiological similarities between house-elves and Goblins, clearly implies that the status of elves ought to be reconsidered. This could be truly revolutionary!"

"I'm afraid such speculations exceed the parameters stipulated in my research budget. Oh my, it appears the Minister has decided to make an appearance after all. I simply must congratulate him on the success of the recent Death Eater convictions. Severus, I imagine you'll want to join me?"

"No need, Zeuler. I attended the trials myself. Kingsley is aware of my support."

In his eagerness to get away, Zeuler barely managed to look deflated at Snape's abandonment. Hermione and Snape watched him waddle off with nearly identical looks of disgusted amusement.

"Does it every time."

Snape turned and gazed at her suspiciously, catching the amusement in her voice. "What?" he asked, almost as if in spite of himself.

She smirked, more to herself than at him. "Me bringing up house-elves. Makes everyone uncomfortable." His eyebrow twitched, and his lip quirked. She didn't say anything, but she met his eyes and made it clear she had recognized his amusement. He glanced around the room, but she cut in again, just as she suspected he was about to make a curt excuse and take his leave. "Of course, his conclusions about Goblins are so off-base to begin with that any extrapolation would be worse than useless."

"I could have told you as much, and I haven't bothered to read a word of it."

"A hazard of duty for me, I'm afraid. My first assignment for the Library was cataloging his publications."

"Am I to assume, then, that one of your dunderheaded schemes lies behind the bootlicking charade?"

"Oh, I had plenty of reasons, but nothing terribly important. Percy was boring me, Zeuler has been boring me for weeks and deserved a bit of revenge... and I daresay you looked like you could use a distraction as well."

Snape seemed to relax, almost deflate slightly. "What frivolous lives we lead."

"It's a novelty, in any case."

But he hardly looked frivolous to her, and she hardly felt frivolous herself.

"So, which of your frivolities earned you an invitation this evening? Erm, normally I'd keep up, of course, but Zeuler's quite appallingly prolific, and I might have gone into perfectionist mode a bit, seeing as it was my first assignment and all."

He rolled his eyes, but another survey of the room seemed to confirm that he would be hard pressed to find a less annoying conversation partner, and as several particularly sycophantic acquaintances were glancing in his direction, he gave in to Hermione's bold query. "I've been experimenting with supplements to the Polyjuice, as a matter of fact." He nearly groaned at Hermione's evident eagerness. "I discovered that the base potion could be blended with an ingestible pigmentation glamour so that the user maintains the target's coloring - hair, eye, skin, etc. - even after the standard hour has elapsed. It makes the transition less noticeable, and the glamour can then be countered with a spell at the user's convenience."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, considering far more factors than her old professor realized. She opened her mouth, about to ask for more details, but noticed that Minister Shacklebolt was preparing to speak and replied with a quip, rather than the planned query.

"So, I know all too well how Polyjuice works with cat hair, but I'm curious, what would happen if one were to treat the potion with hair form a different, but also rational species, such as house-elves?"

Hermione felt almost smug as she turned to listen politely to the Minister's speech, ignoring Snape's failure to suppress an amused snort. She didn't know how well she'd fulfilled her cryptic assignment, but for the moment at least, she couldn't help feeling that the evening was a success.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Again, the Potterverse belongs to JKR. Sorry for another short chapter, but I have a very busy week ahead and wanted to at least leave you with something. This might be a good point to note that this is very much a WIP: I will update as often as I'm able, but I cannot promise a regular schedule. As to this chapter in particular, it should answer some questions and raise more.

Chapter 1 - the next morning.

Hermione sat in a hard wooden chair in a spartan waiting room. This was a part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement she certainly hadn't encountered in her visits with Harry and Ron. Though the aesthetic was stark, the room was well cared-for, the furniture in good repair and well-crafted. She'd been waiting over thirty minutes, and she hadn't brought a book. Frankly, she'd thought - or rather desperately hoped - that the entire meeting couldn't possibly take more than the thirty minutes she'd already been sitting there.

She briefly fretted that her lengthier-than-expected absence from work would land her in any trouble. Then she recalled the degree to which her current task organizing the Gilderoy Lockhart juvenilia, field notes, and recent finger paintings for a special exhibition was not an improvement over Zeuler's oeuvre and scowled, determinedly settling herself more firmly in the unyielding seat. The root of the problem was that Hermione Granger did not understand what was going on, and what little she did understand she did not particularly like.

When she had accepted her job almost a month prior, it was not without significant hesitation. Though as close as ever with Ron and Harry, she had not wanted to follow them into Auror training, nor had she felt inclined to pursue an overtly political career in the Department of Magical Creatures or become a figurehead in a (these days largely unnecessary) campaign for muggle-born rights. It had been difficult to balance the expectations of friends and the public with her own competing desires both to be of use in post-Voldemort magical Britain and to lead a life not determined by her prominent role in the war. Harry and Ron had found that the three-year Auror training program allowed them to both fulfill society's expectations and remain busy and largely out of the spotlight. Surprisingly, she had found one of her strongest sources of support in Minister Shacklebolt who, in addition to always making a point to engage her on the subject of her studies, at the victory ball several months prior had approached her and not only congratulated her on the near completion of her studies but also offered to put in a good word for her should she apply to any Ministry jobs and mentioned a specific research post he thought her particularly suited for. When she had been accepted for that very job, the Minister had sent her a personal note of congratulations which included a statement that "a strong government never undervalues intelligence" and a recommendation, or perhaps a polite request, that she make herself available should one Everett Bindler ever ask her for a special favor.

Hermione had not so much as been officially introduced to Bindler, a high-ranking public image coordinator who worked with the Library on many of their exhibitions, until she was called into his office the very morning of the magical inventions soirée. He had praised her work on Zeuler, used more flattery to stick her with the Lockhart assignment, and informed her that he'd secured her an invitation to that evening's festivities as the Library's Contemporary Archives representative. Hermione, remembering Shacklebolt's missive, readily agreed, even though she wasn't particularly fond of Ministry parties and would have to transfigure her outfit significantly if she wished to be properly attired for the occasion. Bindler then, barely altering his somewhat over-congenial tone, asked, "One final thing, Miss Granger? Your old Potions Professor, Severus Snape, will be in attendance this evening. You're both war heroes: we think he might actually talk to you, and we need a clearer sense of his current activities. See what you can find out."

The request immediately struck Hermione as wrong. Not simply incongruous, it signaled a radical paradigm shift. She needed to think, but it felt as if all her blood had rushed to pound in her ears, and she had to respond with something, preferably something that sounded neutral and confused rather than suspicious. An inelegant "Wait - what does Professor Snape have to do with the Library?" was, she hoped, suitably genuine to convince and vague enough not to betray her deeper misgivings.

Bindler took his time in responding and stared at Hermione critically, letting her feel the weight of the power differential. "My friends led me to believe that you wish to be of service to your government, Miss Granger. I am calling on your patriotic duty. Do I have your cooperation?"

And there were too many unknown elements of the equation for her to respond with anything other than, "Well, it certainly won't be easy: you see, Professor Snape doesn't actually like me very much. I'll try though, of course. Can you tell me a little bit more about what exactly you need from me?"

The soirée had been on a Thursday night, and Hermione received an owl the following morning informing her of an eleven o'clock appointment. One August Gelley would receive her report. She had tried to reason the situation through but quickly concluded that no amount of thinking would help. There simply wasn't enough information. The brief high she'd felt in successfully manipulating Snape into something like a genuine conversation had faded quickly once she arrived at her tiny flat and had only Crookshanks for company and reassurance. She'd gathered more information about her professor than she had dared to hope, but she was aware that it was probably far less than Bindler - and whoever else - expected of her.

The evidence implied that Bindler was suspicious of Snape, but as far as Hermione was aware, no one had seriously questioned his war hero status since Harry had revealed his allegiances at the Battle of Hogwarts and submitted an official statement to the Wizengamot while he was recovering in St Mungo's. The man was largely reclusive and remained highly unpleasant when he did rear his greasy head, but Hermione certainly didn't doubt his allegiances; in fact, the very possibility of someone else doubting him nearly thrust her into "house elf crusade mode." What right did Bindler, to all appearances another self-important Ministry stooge, have to question someone who had given so much in the war? That was what gave Hermione pause. If she was reading the situation correctly, Bindler was implying that his authority came from the Minister himself, and if that was the case, both of the most logical scenarios were terrifying: either the Minister had manipulated her, or he was himself the victim of an underhanded plot.

Such were Hermione's thoughts when she was finally called in at a quarter to noon.


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: I don't own the Potterverse - what a surprise! Thank you to everyone who is reading, following, reviewing!

Chapter 2

Hermione followed the curt, sharp-faced secretary down a brief series of empty hallways to a functional conference room where she was deposited without a word. The two men at the head of the otherwise empty table ignored her as they finished their low but apparently congenial conversation, and Hermione was simultaneously relieved and angered to see that one of them was the Minister himself. He half stood, leaning on the table, back mostly to the door. The other man, who she presumed was Gelley, Hermione could have identified as American even without hearing his accent. He looked like nothing so much as a seventy-year-old ex G.I. Joe, transitioned to a desk job and confidently an officer, but still covetous of his soldier's physique. His grey-blue robes were of a military cut, but bore no signs of nation, rank, insignia.

The two men continued just long enough that Hermione began to wonder whether she ought to announce her presence. Then the Minister clapped Gelley on the shoulder, quite familiarly, and straightened to his full height. "Right then. Send my regards to Perry, when next you speak." He turned, finally, toward the door - "Sorry to have kept you waiting, Hermione. August and I were just catching up. Good day." - and took his leave with a studied casualness his authority helped him get away with.

The door closed, and Gelley waved Hermione toward a seat about midway down the table. Close enough to hear one another speak easily, but the distance was uncomfortable in the otherwise empty room, evidently serving no purpose but as a power play. He clicked the end of what appeared to be a muggle ballpoint pen, but the pen then stood on its own at the top of his paper as if it were a Quick-Quotes Quill and began recording information immediately, despite the silence.

Hermione sat without speaking. Though the Minister's presence resolved several situational variables, she hoped to gather more information while giving as little of her own away as possible. She was quickly becoming aware that that hope was vain indeed.

"We drink coffee here, and we take it black." Gelley gestured to the only item on the table besides his papers and pen, a lonely percolator, muggle variety, gently steaming but with no visible plug. Beside it sat a single, chipped mug, which Hermione took and filled, showing as little hesitation as possible. Gelley wasn't about to order her to drink, but neither would he continue until she had done so. She took a couple of substantial sips, acknowledging that although it was far from a gourmet brew, the beverage was, at least, strong. She catalogued her faculties as she drank, and noted with tentative relief that Gelley did not seem like he expected to wait for her to finish completely.

When she saw him finally preparing to speak, she swallowed quickly and beat him to the punch, somewhat inelegantly, but she felt satisfied for a moment all the same.

"Not Veritaserum, then." Her intended smirk was probably more of a grimace: the coffee's flavor was not improving upon further acquaintance.

Gelley's quelling look made Hermione feel childish for a moment, then her anger returned. Even without restricted potions in play, she was fed up with the incessant power games. For now she held her peace, but if Gelley possessed any skill at reading body language, he couldn't fail to notice her cheeks flame, her shoulders tense.

"Let's begin." His tone of voice seemed to imply that _she_ was responsible for delaying the process. "What information were you able to acquire?"

"About Professor Snape, Sir?" Her tone was innocent.

The look he gave her reminded Hermione distinctly of the way Snape would look at Neville Longbottom, just before verbally eviscerating him and doing significant damage to Gryffindor's house points. "Mr. Snape was your target, yes."

Hermione decided the condescension was worse than Snape's ire. And what did he mean by target? "Well," she huffed, "I don't really know what you want me to say. I already told Mr. Bindler that Professor Snape dislikes me exceedingly - I had to be quite manipulative just to get him to talk to me at all. And besides, I was hardly given sufficient direction: 'we need a clearer sense of his current activities' indeed! I suppose, since he was wise enough to avoid that nasty excuse for champagne, he's probably _not_ currently nursing a raging hangover!"

Gelley dismissed her tirade easily: "The hysterics won't be necessary. I believe that Bindler conveyed something of the importance of your task, so I'd appreciate it if you would take this seriously. It's highly possible that your observations add up to more than you realize, but it will be easier to sift through the dross if you're straight with me."

"If _I'm_ straight with _you_? Are you kidding me? All I'm seeing is manipulation, as if for its own sake. _No one has bothered to tell me what is going on_!"

"Haven't we, though?" His answer was surprisingly mild, "Surely your intellect isn't _so_ dramatically overrated."

"Fine, then. All the signs point to you using me to string up a war hero on some cooked up charges and in the most underhanded way. What is this, the House Un-American Activities Committee?"

"So you assume that I suspect Mr. Snape of some kind of underhanded dealings. Of treachery. Of continuing to spy."

"And what gives you the right? Pardon me, this is going to sound a bit arrogant, but where were you in the war? Personally I have no idea _what_ the Minister could be thinking, condoning this charade!"

Again, he ignored her outburst, apart from a small, disappointed frown. "You need to focus, Miss Granger. Ok, let's go with your assumption. Assume I do suspect Mr. Snape. Bracket, for a moment, your past history with the man and give me the evidence supporting and refuting that suspicion, based solely on your observations yesterday evening."

"For one thing, it was a _cocktail party_, hardly a venue for nefarious scheming. He indulged me in conversation for a few minutes solely because I saved him from being talked at and slimed over by this revolting boar of a hack scholar who wanted to rub off on his celebrity. And anyway, I can't see any reason why you would ask me to ignore my existing knowledge of Professor Snape unless you were entirely uninterested in forming an accurate image of the man." She held up her hand, "I know, you'll say that having been his student, and due to his role in the war, there's no possible way my own perspective could be unprejudiced, but I hardly think that a few personality... imperfections hold weight against over a decade of thankless, dangerous work as a double agent. Don't you understand that without his sacrifices, we would have lost the war?"

"Maybe we've been going about this the wrong way. Think of this as an intellectual exercise. A puzzle, if you will. Bracketing this particular interaction gives us more meaningful rules, which makes for a better game." He actually smiled at her, the shit. "So tell me, what do you make of the evidence? What pieces don't fit? See this as an opportunity to impress me."

Hermione bit back a too-easy retort about her utter lack of interest in impressing this arsehole. The truth was, puzzles intrigued her. That was one of the reasons she hadn't made more of a fuss when Bindler handed her this rotten task. Snape was, in many ways, one of the greatest unsolved puzzles of her life thus far, staunchly resistant to her usual strategy of throwing exhaustive research and logic at a problem. A large part of her had welcomed the excuse to drum up her courage and talk to her old Professor. She was still secretly pleased by the relative congeniality of their conversation. Her curiosity was strong enough to prompt her finally to give in, offering Gelley a bald summary of the previous evening's activities. In any case, so long as the Minister overtly condoned the interview, there was only so much she could do to resist without creating problems for more than just herself.

"So you see," Hermione concluded, "it was the very definition of mundane."

"Very well. Now we have something tangible to work with at least. Tell me, if you were obligated to identify anything out of the ordinary, where would you start?"

Hermione actually laughed, "That won't get us very far! I'd start with the fact that he condescended to speak with me at all. Of course, that's all too easily explained by the fact that I maneuvered myself to stand out as the lesser of several evils. No, I'd have to say that what struck me as most puzzling was his very reason for being there."

"He significantly altered an extremely difficult and heavily restricted potion - is that not precisely the sort of research that would get someone recognized at such a function?"

Hermione's smile was very nearly a self-satisfied smirk. "It's precisely the sort of thing the Ministry would give an award for, certainly. What I mean is that it doesn't give us a full explanation of what he's been doing with his time."

"Go on." Gelley finally looked genuinely interested.

"Have you ever brewed Polyjuice? No? Right then. It's a difficult potion, certainly, and as you say, heavily restricted, but probably not for precisely the reasons you imagine. I myself brewed it in a toilet in my second year. Now, I'm not bragging. It takes a long time, it has to be tended at inconvenient intervals, and some of the ingredients are expensive and difficult to procure, but aside from that, the brewing process is utterly straightforward, especially compared to really difficult potions like Felix Felicis or Veritaserum. The base is simple enough that in theory, certain alterations really shouldn't be that big of a deal. However, there are at least two major reasons why you haven't seen the market flooded with Potions apprentices striving to make names for themselves with their Polyjuice modifications. First, the potion is notoriously species-specific" - here Hermione felt herself blushing a little, even after all these years - "failed experiments have the potential to be extremely hazardous, if not deadly, and nonhuman test subjects will absolutely _not_ give accurate results. Second, altering the potion's effects means altering Ministry regulations - a lot of paperwork that no one wants to perform. I imagine it needed a Potioneer of Professor Snape's renown to get the product officially recognized, but articles discussing similar improvements have been circulating for ages. Don't get me wrong, it's an incredibly useful potion - there was a time I could have wished for it myself! but Professor Snape is a genius scholar, and, quite frankly, this is beneath his abilities."

"There could be a simple explanation," Gelley prodded mildly, "perhaps he was merely publishing intermediate results and is meanwhile working on a more ambitious project. Or are you now implying that his activities are suspect?"

Hermione's bit her lip in frustration, but quickly regained her composure. "Don't put words in my mouth! Personally, I can't imagine the Professor actually relaxing, but if he's spending his time looking at the Holyhead Harpies' swimsuit calendar, all the best to him; it's none of my business, and he certainly deserves a break. All I'm saying is that he hasn't actually been wasting away for months in a lab making sure your hair color doesn't change back right away when Polyjuice wears off."

"Then why develop the potion at all?"

"Well it _is_ useful, obviously. And it would definitely take someone of his clout to get it through Ministry regulations." She was aware that she sounded unsure of herself.

"But why attend the recognition ceremony. It rather goes against what you've sketched of his character."

"I don't know. Maybe he was lonely."

"Are you sure you believe that?"

She sighed. "No. I mean, I haven't the faintest idea as to whether or not he's lonely, but if he is, attending a tedious Ministry function is hardly an intelligent solution."

"So tell me, what do you think is the true motive for his attendance?"

"I can only say what it looks like based on the very limited evidence I possess. This is a thought experiment, not a conclusion - "

"The point, Miss Granger."

"His activities seem calculated to make him appear a reclusive, yet exemplary citizen. It's smart. If he wants to be left alone, it's probably actually more effective for him to put in a few strategic public appearances. Let the public honor him in whatever way he finds to be least irritating, and then request privacy as he works on useful potions that benefit our law enforcement officers - which will soon include Harry, of course." This was, in fact, very similar to the strategy she had been recommending to Harry and Ginny, and with some success, for the past two years. "That would also go some way toward explaining why he tolerated the conversation of people he would normally find supremely irritating - myself included."

"Good! So in that case, what _is_ he hiding?"

Hermione's growing suspicions solidified at Gelley's pointed approval. She had finally caught on that he was expecting her to arrive at a particular conclusion and was now fairly certain she had accurately deduced it. Somewhat to her shame, her glee in finding the answer and eagerness to convey her discovery won out against her indignation over having been so baldly manipulated.

"The fact that he's working for you, you smug bastard."


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: I don't own HP. Sorry for the continued excess of conversational exposition, but I think it's necessary here. There will be action eventually!

Chapter 3

Hermione hadn't been quite as certain as she liked when she voiced her conclusion, but the moment she uttered the words, she knew she was correct, even without looking to Gelley for confirmation.

"No, you don't get to ask me if I'm sure, or how I know. I know I'm right. You're recruiting me, too - the Minister has been laying the trap for ages. That's why he encouraged me to pursue this Library job rather than follow Harry and Ron into Auror training. It makes for a better cover. This is unbelievable! No, you just wait, I'm not done! Does Professor Snape even know about this? He doesn't, does he!"

"He didn't at first, no."

"Wow. You even play games with your own people. Why you think I'd _ever_ work for you, I have no idea. You're like a petty, untrustworthy version of Albus Dumbledore at his worst!"

"My my, that's quite the slur. And surprisingly uncomplimentary to your old headmaster."

"You know what?" Hermione pushed her chair back from the table and stood, surprisingly steady in her heels. "I'm done here. I solved your little puzzle, but that's the limit of my interest. The nice thing about games is that they _end_."

"Some games have more than one round." Gelley looked far too content for Hermione's comfort. "Who do you think won this one?"

"I'm not sure that I care."

"I find that hard to believe. My dear, you are _far_ from satisfied. It all comes down to knowledge. Will knowledge be your reward, or will it be your price?"

Hermione felt her legs give out, and her bum was back in the chair. _You're being paranoid_, she told herself. But she knew that wasn't the case. "If I don't agree, you'll take my memories." Her voice was hardly above a whisper.

"I've said no such thing."

Hermione shook her head. "You didn't have to. I'm catching on to how this works. And Shacklebolt is in on this, damn him. He knows what that means to me."

"Tut tut, what happened to Lockhart wasn't your fault. But if you still feel guilty, your work for the library should help to make amends."

She did her best not to glare at him. And not to retch. Surely he knew about her parents; that was really what he was holding over her head - both the guilt for having erased herself from their memories and the questionable legality of the act.

"It's highly unlikely that you'd wind up in a similar state - we use only the most competent spellcasters."

"Fuck you." The extreme language was an admission of defeat, and Gelley seemed to know it immediately.

"This is an employment opportunity, you know. A highly selective one. It's hardly fitting that we begin with threats and foul language before you've even heard the benefits!"

"Well go on then, woo me. Try." She crossed her arms defiantly, defensively, and leaned back in her chair, suddenly exhausted.

"Since the fall of Voldemort, magical Britain has seen a dramatic increase of crimes infringing on the muggle world. These crimes are both more numerous and of a more serious nature than your Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department is equipped to deal with, and the potential implications are more dangerous than many realize."

"What sorts of crimes exactly?"

"They are limited only by the criminals' creativity. Financial crimes and various versions of thievery are quite popular. Wizards have found ways to manipulate the stock market, counterfeit money, jewels, and antiques, or more effectively valuable items. We've seen potions introduced as muggle pharmaceuticals - sometimes for apparently philanthropic reasons, but, as with your species-specific Polyjuice potion, the results aren't always consistent for muggles and wizards alike. I'm sure you can intuit additional dangers. Wizarding governments are particularly concerned with attempts to manipulate muggle politics. You experienced a version of this during the Voldemort area, but in America we've seen a variety of additional manifestations."

"I see the potential scope of the problem." Hermione said, interested in spite of herself. "I take it things have escalated since the end of the war due to the general decrease in anti-muggle sentiment?"

"That's a significant factor, yes. These problems have a longer history in America in part because prejudice regarding blood purity is not one of the major hurdles facing wizarding society. But there are broader issues in play as well. Globalization plays a significant role: more and more of these crimes possess an international element, or at least raise the threat of international consequences. Our particular jurisdiction lies in bringing British criminals to justice, but our larger objective is to enforce the International Statue of Secrecy, and often that entails overseas missions. Globalization also makes it easier for muggles to share knowledge and increases the means by which they might come to discover our existence."

"Pardon my stating the obvious, but you're American. What's your investment in British security, or are our magical citizens threatening specific American interests?"

"I'm here at the Minister's special invitation." Hermione thought he looked a bit smug. "America has long possessed a department devoted to preventing and, of course, prosecuting such activity. Kingsley asked me to oversee the development of and temporarily direct a sister department within your Ministry."

"You're building a British wizarding MI6?"

"It's more complicated than that, but the parallel isn't entirely inaccurate."

"I'm nearly convinced of the need for such an organization, but why target someone like me as a potential operative?" _And why be such a dick about it?_ "Or Professor Snape for that matter. Isn't our fame a detriment?"

"Not necessarily, in this case. Celebrities are excused for being eccentric, for keeping irregular schedules. Activities that would otherwise appear sneaky can be explained as attempts to avoid the limelight. International travel is also more common. But celebrity isn't the primary reason we're interested in you. Often your renown will play no role whatsoever, as you'll be dealing largely with muggles who won't know you from Eve. It's your status as a muggle-born that's crucial: we only recruit witches and wizards raised predominantly in the muggle world."

That would partly explain Professor Snape's presence in the organization as well. Hermione knew he was a half-blood, but she wasn't otherwise familiar with the nature of his upbringing, apart from a few cryptic, ominous comments from Harry, which he always infuriatingly refused to elaborate.

"Perhaps most importantly, Miss Granger, you're patriotic, and you're loyal. You proved that, ironically enough, in your defense of your old professor. I'm aware that you don't trust me yet," he actually laughed, "but I'm confident that you'll be able to see the value in this work and put aside prejudice and animosity for the sake of the greater good."

Hermione chose to ignore the accusation of prejudice, though she felt her blood boil yet again. "I assume you have me organizing Lockhart's work because he was so widely travelled - that gives me an excuse for greater mobility."

"There! I was told you were a quick study. Though we have an additional scenario in place that should make things run smoother still."

"Wow. You've thought of everything." She replied sarcastically. "So, what _is_ this cunning plan?"

"Tell me, are you still in contact with the Bulgarian Quidditch star, Viktor Krum?"

"Just letters on birthdays, Christmas, and at the end of the war. He wanted to see me when he played some match in England last summer, but I was in Austrailia. Though I'm sure you already knew that," she added petulantly.

"We'll need you to renew your acquaintance," Gelley announced baldly.

"Why?"

"You'll have the details when they become necessary. For now, you're to do nothing overt whatsoever, aside from attending a few events where you will be observed looking alluring."

Hermione snorted.

"We won't make any moves until he contacts you on your birthday; that gives us almost two months for briefing and basic training, though I dare say you'll be a quick study."

"You're speaking as if I've already accepted," she accused.

Gelley blinked innocently at her, but did not reply.

But Hermione realized they had already reached the point where the question was not whether she was going to accept, but how. And perhaps how she accepted didn't matter much either, only how she proceeded afterward. Despite the Minister's involvement, Gelley's evident clout in the American government, and the plausible need for such an organization, Hermione remained suspicious. The problem was, there wasn't anyone she could take her suspicions to. The most likely candidates were either dead or directly implicated, and she didn't think someone like Mr. Weasley, despite his recent rise in stature, was equipped to deal with this: she would only drag him into trouble. What she needed, and, as Gelley had pointed out, wanted, was knowledge, and that was something she would only be able to attain from within the system, working alone.

"There's one thing I still don't understand. I can see why you'd want Professor Snape for such an operation, but I can't possibly imagine a scenario in which he'd be eager to work with someone like you. He's even less tolerant of bullshit than I am."

"Ah, Miss Granger, an operative's motivation is a confidence I'd be loath to betray." He seemed to look at something behind Hermione, and she swiveled, suddenly alert, her stomach filled with dread. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

He stood tall, imposing, poised precisely on the threshold. "This interview has been illuminating, Miss Granger. By the way, I'd advise that you resist Director Gelley's last suggestion: impertinence won't get you very far."

Hermione blanched. "I wouldn't dream of it, Sir." She spun back to Gelley with an accusing look. "He was listening the whole time? Of course he was. What is this, compensation for keeping him out of the loop until now?"

Gelley ignored her. "Observations, Mr. Snape?" he asked mildly.

Her professor's voice held a little of its usual sneer, but the tone was otherwise calm. "You know my opinion. As even the girl has recognized, the decision was made before you asked for my input. I'll have a thorough report on your desk by the end of the day."

Snape swirled, and stalked off down the hallway, gone as quickly as he came. Hermione and Gelley sat in awkward silence for a moment, Gelley seemingly amused at her discomfort.

"Very well Miss Granger. I've already informed the library that you won't be returning this afternoon. I'll send Mara to find you some lunch, then we'll proceed with your official orientation."

Hermione could only nod dumbly. _What have I gotten myself into?_

The afternoon went much more smoothly. Hermione felt revived after a simple lunch of sandwiches and tea, and Gelley was smart enough to make himself scarce, leaving her in the hands of more congenial staff and operatives. Not that the experience was entirely pleasant. She spent well over an hour filling out tedious paperwork, and sat two different lie detector tests: one muggle polygraph, the other Veritaserum.

Hermione vaguely recognized The administrator, Ricardo Alonzo, a Ravenclaw who had graduated a few years ahead of her at Hogwarts. Ricardo was almost adorable in his excitement to compare the results, and she was relieved to find that the questions, while sometimes embarrassing, were less invasive than she had worried that Snape had composed them, but evidently they used a fairly standard set. The people she met didn't seem like they had been briefed to demonstrate unnatural enthusiasm. A good portion looked exhausted, and she even saw a couple of agents arguing about mission strategy, but the work - what she was allowed to see of it, in any case - looked worthwhile, and nobody was noticeably resentful or disillusioned. She remembered how even Snape, despite his evident disagreement with Gelley regarding her recruitment, had demonstrated an ability to work with the man.

Among the many people she met and tried to keep straight, Hermione was especially taken with Eva Scarlatti, who, as she understood it, was assigned to tutor her in the science of feminine wiles - apparently the most important skillset she was to master in the coming weeks. Eva, she was surprised to discover, was married to Paolo Scarlatti, a retired Italian Quidditch star at least twice her age, which Hermione estimated could not be more than thirty. The bigger revelation, however, was that Eva was half-sister to Angelina Johnson - now Weasley. Hermione vaguely remembered seeing her at the recent wedding, though the two women had not been introduced. Though Angelina was a pure-blood, her father had a daughter from a previous marriage to an Italian muggle woman. Eva had been raised by her mother in Italy, where she also pursued her wizarding education, and she only developed a strong relationship with her British wizarding family after her mother's early death. Eva was, if anything, even prettier than Angelina. She was classy, and Hermione found herself surprisingly eager to see what could be done with her own appearance, though once she was home, nursing a glass of wine with an aging Crookshanks purring on her lap, she fully registered how incongruous it was that her day had ended in swapping tips for managing curly hair.

Hermione had a hard time falling asleep but slept late the next morning and was almost late to meet Harry and Ron at the Ministry gym, where they met every Saturday morning for sparring practice. The boys liked to tease her by saying it was their responsibility to make sure she didn't lose her edge. However, discounting Harry's superior magical power, Hermione, thanks largely to her wand skills, was a more competent duelist than either of them. She relished their sessions and benefitted from Harry and Ron sharing the hand-to-hand combat techniques they were learning at the Aurory. Ron in particular had taken to the muggle fighting styles like a natural, and their sparring in that respect was as unequal as their magical duels. That day in particular Ron trounced her pitilessly, and Hermione found herself distinctly frustrated as she ditched the boys and headed to meet Ginny for lunch - another weekly tradition. She would have to improve her physical skills considerably.

It had been Ginny's turn to choose a location, and she had selected a shockingly ordinary muggle bistro in central London. They always dined muggle - it made for a bit of an adventure, and it also helped ensure privacy - but Hermione's choices tended to be more selective. Despite the morning's exhausting workout, Hermione ordered a healthy salad, but at the last moment gave in and added a pint of Newcastle. Ginny giggled at her decision but ordered a beer as well, though a lighter one.

"Have I ever told you that you drink like a man, Hermione?"

"Every time I fail to order a cosmopolitan." Hermione licked some of the foam from the rim of her glass before taking a rather deep sip and sighing contentedly.

"Did the boys give you a rough time today? It seemed this morning like Ron was still upset about yesterday's article, though he's pretending he's not, of course." She winked, but Hermione just stared at her, perplexed.

"What article, Ginny? I have no idea what you're talking about... though Ron being mad at me would certainly explain that unsportsmanlike headlock."

Ginny seemed to have anticipated her friend's confusion and bent down to pull a folded newspaper from her purse. Hermione groaned, immediately recognizing the Prophet's entertainment section.

"Tisk, tisk. Not keeping up with the news! Careful, if you miss my first byline, I'll never forgive you!"

Ginny was an intern at the Daily Prophet. She had been assigned to the sports department but hoped to eventually attain a position that allowed her to enforce responsible journalism - particularly that which targeted celebrities. Hermione knew this was all part of preparing for life as Harry Potter's wife. Of course, part of this calculated plan involved "not rushing into things," a strategy that seemed to translate as both parties refusing to admit they were dating, but Ginny spending as many nights as possible at Grimmauld Place. The cautious sentiment behind their plan was wise, Hermione thought, but really, they weren't fooling anyone.

She slid the paper across the table, the amusement rather than trepidation in her eyes a sign that the argument wasn't, in fact, terrible, and would likely cause a snit rather than inspiring full-blown rage.

"It's actually quite flattering. Though I'm not sure why you chose summer dress robes in quite so drab a palette..."

Hermione snatched at the paper. The picture showed her talking to Percy Weasley at the inventions soirée. She looked a bit subdued, doubtless bored by Percy's pontificating, but it wasn't obvious enough that Percy would be able to tell. Ginny was right, about the image at least. It wasn't a disaster.

"I didn't know I was going until that morning. I had to transfigure something, and it seemed safest not to torture the fabric too much and tempt a reversion."

Ginny nodded in sympathetic agreement. One of the guests at George and Angelina's wedding had been overambitious in transfiguring her robes, and the resulting malfunction had been traumatic. Ginny had lent the poor girl some of her old ones, but they weren't especially flattering.

Hermione's navy skirtsuit had become a classy sleeveless sheath, but the wool definitely suited the perpetually chilly library vaults more than it did the festivities of a warm summer evening. She had also transfigured her sweater to serve as a gauzy over-robe, but the grey color looked less shimmery and more drab than she had hoped. Minimal make-up, no visible jewelry, and her curls wrangled up in a passable but hasty bun. Next to the perpetually dour Percy, however, she didn't look particularly out of place. _If they had photographed me talking with Professor Snape, I would have looked patently sunny. _Then she realized that a picture of her and the professor would have led only to worse misunderstandings and gossip.

She unfolded the page so that she could read the entire article, and saw that the most prominent photo was in fact of Snape and Zeuler - Snape totally impassive, and Zeuler angling his champagne flute so that he could catch the dregs. The article payed far more attention to Snape than to her as well, playing up his achievements just as she'd framed the situation for Gelley. He had refused an interview, but not impolitely, and came across as altogether impressive, but perhaps a bit dull. Hermione herself only featured in one brief paragraph in the second half of the article, where the author spent some time cataloging other notable attendees. It described her outfit as professional, and a mention of her Library job made the comment seem a suitable description rather than a subtle critique. If anything, the prestige of her position was somewhat exaggerated, and she was surprised that the author already knew about her assignment to work on the Lockhart exhibition. The only thing that really caused her to groan was that it concluded by mentioning her recent break-up with Ron and the fact that she was now single. That part was pure gossip rag, though certainly not so malicious as many things she'd had written about her.

She groaned. It didn't surprise her at all that the article had sent Ron into a snit, though she suspected that what had really set him off was Percy's presence in the photograph.

"You didn't do anything wrong. You know how Ron is. He has no right, anyway - woke up the whole house with Lavender again last night!"

Hermione didn't quite know how to feel about that; she was certainly far more sympathetic to Lavender after she'd nearly been eaten alive by a werewolf during the final battle, but things were still a bit awkward between her and Ron even though the decision to break up had been fairly mutual. She had no desire to 'get him back' as it were, but the fact that he was already sleeping with her old school rival certainly wasn't a confidence-booster.

"Anyway," Ginny continued, "it really is a surprisingly balanced piece. I'm almost not embarrassed to be associated with the publication."

Something clicked for Hermione then, and she glanced at the byline. She wasn't expecting to see Rita Skeeter's name attached to so inoffensive an article, of course, but what she read caused her to groan. Asmita Bindler. It couldn't possibly be a coincidence. Gelley's words from the day before came back to her suddenly, "you're to do nothing overt whatsoever, aside from attending a few events where you will be observed looking alluring." Hermione wasn't convinced that the photo in question could be described as alluring, but one thing was certain: she had a _lot_ of catching up to do if she hoped to play this game on anything like an even field.


End file.
